


Footsteps

by Demmora



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Corvo is not above putting him in his place, I just needed more Corvo and Martin quipping at each other, I've no idea where this idea was taking me, Martin is a nosy bugger, Meta, unfinished rambling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6681925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo has a queit moment in the pub before leaving on an errand, Martin asks some not so subtle questions about Emily's parentage. </p><p>Another unfinished idea from the vaults. Not entirely sure where I was going with this but I know it stemmed from needing more Corvo and Martin interaction. *waves hand*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsteps

The map in front of him was old and fraying, with more than one or two coffee rings denoting important landmarks, names smudged but legible all the same. Corvo was pouring over it in one of the booths of the pub. He had a good sense of direction in the upper circles closest to Dunwall Tower and the Palace, but beyond that he was ashamed to admit he was lost in the lower streets and whaling district. There hadn’t been much call for them to visit there often, and when they had he’d only ever mapped out the nearest and best looking escape routes. He wished now he’d spent more time on the city as a whole, he’d certainly been living here long enough.

Behind him the sound of the door creaking open and footsteps sounded, and Corvo didn’t even bother to turn. “Hello Martin.”

“By the Seven, I wish you wouldn’t do that.” the Overseer replied, coming over to lean against the side of the booth, and Corvo glanced up briefly to meet his glower with a sharp grin which only seemed to ruffled the smart mouthed man further. “It’s beyond me how you know who it is every time.”

“It’s not my fault you all move so loudly.” Corvo stated, turning his attention back to the map and using an ink quill to mark a spot on the map which he thought might be relevant. “Though you are quieter than the others.”

 _A thief and a rogue,_ the heart muttered in the back of his mind, _restless hands and roving feet still make him wince behind his mask.  
_

Corvo suppressed a little shudder, and pulled his mind out of the Void and back into reality. It was strange to hear her voice talking in hushed and discriminating whispers, especially about the men who sought to restore Emily to the throne and called themselves Loyalists. But even without her insight Corvo would have pegged Martin for a sneak. Overseers tended to move in large clumping strides, their boots hitting the ground as though trying to stamp obedience into the very cobblestones. By contrast, Martin moved like a proper fighter—at least proper as far as Corvo was concerned— poised on the balls of his feet and ready to sidestep rather than plunge head on.

“Really, even quieter than Pendleton?” Martin asked, pulling Corvo out of his musings as the other man slid into the opposite side of the booth, gaze politely interested in the map on the table. “I’d hardly think he’d make much noise with his size.”

“Even slim drunks are loud.” Corvo muttered, earning a rueful laugh in return and a knowing look. The topic of Pendleton’s continued descent into blatant alcoholism had come up more than once between the two men. The plan was, that once Burrows was removed, Pendleton would step into office as Emily’s Prime Minister. But Corvo had his doubts whether or not the man’s liver would last that long, or if Dunwall could stand being at the mercy of an anxious and bitter drunk. Martin, after some prolonged exposure to the man, had been inclined to agree, though Havelock still seemed firm in his backing, for now at least.

“Callista informs me that Lady Emily is doing well with her studies,” the former priest commented lightly, gaze politely interested, though Corvo can see the sharp look that lies beneath. "You must be very proud.”

“She’s a bright child.” Corvo replied carefully, lowering his gaze to the map again to hide his irritation. Idly he wondered if all priests were gossips, or just the ones he’d ever met. “Her mother was too, at that age.”

 _Do you remember,_ whispered the Heart, and Corvo shut his eyes against it, _do you remember her first steps..._

 _“_ Oh, that’s right.” Martin carried on, as though Corvo wasn’t dying in front of him, heart breaking, soul splintering, “I forget sometimes, just how long you’ve been here.”

“Almost as long as you, it must be what, twenty five years, for you?” Corvo asked, still listening to the heart whisper— _he was five when the insurrection began, six when he stole from a dying man, fourteen when he lied about his age to join the Navy, sixteen by the time he ran—_ and watched as Martin blanched.

“How did y—”

“Does it matter?” Corvo asked, shrugging minutely, “We’re all on the same side here.” _  
_

_Aren’t we?_ the unspoken question hung in the air between them, and Corvo watched as Martin’s gaze hardened before breaking into a harsh grin.

“Ask me no secrets, I’ll tell no lies, is that it Corvo?”

“If you want.” Corvo replied evenly, setting down his quill and examining the ink stains on his fingertips. “More, I appreciate certain questions not being asked. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

Martin gave him a calculated look. it could almost be considered appreciation. "You’re far more shrewd than I gave you credit for.”

It was a backhanded compliment, but Corvo simply shrugged. Martin wouldn’t be the first to peg him as the dumb bodyguard with his brains in his sword hand. _  
_  
_This one moves people like chess pieces,and reads them like cards_ , the Heart ghosted through his mind once more as Martin began to talk animatedly about something else.

_You have scuppered his game...be careful my love._


End file.
